


in flames i sleep soundly (with angels around me)

by cursingcursive (queenradi)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Derek Has Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6934576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenradi/pseuds/cursingcursive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Derek has nightmares. Spencer always knows how to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in flames i sleep soundly (with angels around me)

Spencer is a light sleeper, for no distinguished reason that he recognizes. It’s just one of those  _ things, _ that he’ll be three hours into his REM cycle and all it takes to snap him wide awake is someone lightly bumping around a room over. It’s a curse, most of the time, because moving in with Derek means waking up every time Clooney skitters down the hallway too quickly. 

And sometimes, it’s a blessing, because sharing a bed with Derek means waking up every time his boyfriend has a nightmare. 

Which doesn’t happen often, something Spencer is thankful for every single night. When it does happen, it goes two ways: the first is quiet and heartbreaking in its subtlety, because Derek shivers awake, swallows down panicked sobs, and slips from the bed before Spencer has the chance to reach for him. He usually gets himself a drink of water and returns to Spencer’s open arms and gentle words. The second way is worse, almost, because Derek shivers awake and his breaths get tangled up and turn into sobs that he can’t stop, and if Spencer tries to touch him he flinches and apologizes in the same second. 

Spencer hates those times. Nothing make him feel more useless than when Derek wakes up terrified and crying and he can’t even help him. 

Slowly, he’s learned how to make both nights better. If Derek wakes up the first way and he manages to calm himself into Spencer’s arms, Spencer will stroke his back and kiss his forehead and whisper his favorite myths and stories until they both drift off again. Sometimes the sun rises and if it’s a weekday Spencer will call them in late, and if it’s a weekend they just won’t move. Eventually Clooney joins them on the bed and Derek smiles and things are okay. 

If Derek wakes up the second way, Spencer has to be very careful. 

 

\---- 

 

It’s July, and it’s hot. Statistically, it’s one of the more mild summer days Virginia’s had, but that doesn’t stop it from absolutely roasting them. Even at night, the Morgan-Reid household flings open windows and points fans in convenient places. Clooney’s water bowl has ice cubes floating in it. The poor dog sleeps stretched out on the cool tile of the kitchen. His humans sleep without blankets and without touching, skin too sticky and uncomfortable for their usual cuddling. 

It’s this lack of contact that allows Spencer a few more minutes of sleep than he’d normally get. Derek doesn’t make noise during his nightmares, but he trembles so violently that if just their shoulders touch Spencer will wake in seconds. 

This night, Spencer blinks awake slowly. He’s sleeping on his stomach, facing the wall, and at first all he’s aware of is the sliver of streetlamp-light slicing through their curtains. Then it’s the stale breeze of the fan and the summer night. Then it’s the dark, the late hour. Then, it’s— 

Derek’s breath catches behind him, familiar in its panic and breaking pitch. Spencer rolls over, wide awake. His heart kicks into overdrive when he’s met with the sight of Derek, curled on his side like a comma, facing Spencer and shaking. Shivers wrack his body, starting where his hands are clutching together, and travelling down in a wave. Derek scrunches his eyes and whimpers. 

“Derek,” Spencer whispers. He reaches out a careful hand and touches Derek’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, wake up—” 

Derek is a light sleeper on these nights for entirely recognizable reasons and he jolts awake at Spencer’s touch. He flinches away, still shaking, and curls tighter around himself. Spencer doesn’t miss the gasped out, “Sorry, sorry—”

This, this is what breaks Spencer’s heart. The automatic apology that never shows its face outside of these horrible, horrible moments. This is when Spencer has to be his most careful, his most attentive, his most perceptive. It’s never hard when he’s around Derek. How can he not pay the utmost attention and care to his whole world? 

“Derek, it’s okay,” Spencer says, louder. He doesn’t touch him, this time. “You’re safe, it’s okay. You’re with Spencer, at home. You’re safe.” 

The other man takes a shuddery breath. He’s still curled in on himself, still shaking. Spencer edges up onto an elbow and places his hand a few inches from Derek on the bed; an offering. 

“You’re safe,” he says again. Softly. 

Another heaving breath. Derek uncurls incrementally. His fingers twitch in the direction of Spencer’s outstretched hand. A single shiver wracks his body. Spencer watches his jaw clench and his eyes lock on some spot on the mattress. 

“I’m right here, Derek,” Spencer reminds him. His heart is pounding. He knows Derek isn’t okay, not by a long shot, and he knows that this might become a long night. “What can I do for you?” 

Derek shakily pushes himself into a sitting position. Spencer stays where he is, wary to move too quickly and alarm his partner. “I’m okay,” Derek says, almost literally through his teeth. His jaw is still clenched. “I’ll— I’ll be okay.” 

“You don’t have to lie, darling,” Spencer whispers. “I’m here to help. Whatever you need— I want to help.” 

There’s a long moment. Derek’s breathing slowly, finally, settles out of its wild and erratic panic from the dream. He stops shaking so badly, only shivers every few moments from what Spencer knows to be overstimulation from misplaced adrenaline. The last of his chemical terror will fade, and leave enough room for him to process through his thoughts and feel safe again. 

Considering the clinical procedure that follows a nightmare like this doesn’t help Spencer at all. He wants to fix it  _ now _ , wants to help  _ now _ , wants Derek’s nightmares to be a thing of the past and wants Derek to be able to sleep without fear. 

“I think I’ll take a bath,” Derek whispers after countless minutes. 

Spencer glances up from where he was tracing the threadlines in the sheets. He smiles gently. Derek doesn’t look at him. “Do you want me to draw one up?” he asks. “I can bring you some tea when you’re all settled in.” If there’s one thing he won’t do, it’s invade Derek’s privacy or overstep his boundaries during the aftermath of the dream-memories. 

“That would be—” Derek stops. He closes his eyes. “Yeah. Thank you.” 

“Alright, sweetheart.” Spencer slowly sits up. “I’ll go get that bath ready. You want hot, warm, or tepid?” 

Derek cracks a weak smile when Spencer does. “Warm, please.” 

“Of course, darling.” Spencer starts for the bathroom. He’s careful not to trip in the darkness, and he winces when the bathroom light flicks on sharply. He putters around, turning on the water to warm, plugging the bath, collecting soaps and bubble baths from under the sink. 

He dumps half a bottle of vanilla and lavender bubble bath into the water. It foams up instantly. He stirs with a hand to encourage the bubbles. The smell is soft and relaxing and perfect on any night, more so for this one. Then he stands and goes to the small linen cabinet by the door to pull out a fresh towel and a washcloth. He sets both by the tub and dims the lights on his way back to the bedroom. 

Derek is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap, staring at nothing. His eyes are blank, gone. Spencer allows himself one second of panic before composing himself and rapping gently on the wall with his knuckles. Derek looks up at him, still vacant but more aware. 

“It’s all ready, love,” Spencer says. “I’ll go downstairs, you settle in. How’s chamomile sound?” 

Derek takes a moment to respond, still locked in the dark headspace the nightmares put him in. Spencer hopes the bath and the tea and maybe even he will help Derek come back from the warzone he’s reliving. 

“Chamomile sounds great,” Derek says. A smile touches his lips. “Thank you, Spence.” 

“Don’t thank me,” Spencer says lightly. “I love you and I want to help. All you need to do is climb in that tub and relax. I’ll even play some music for you, if you want.” 

“Classical?” The smile quirks more, tugs more, lights up more. 

Spencer nods sagely. “Very calming. Very therapeutic.” 

“You just want to trap me in there with Bach and Mozart.” 

“Maybe so.” Spencer smiles back and moves to grab his phone and wireless speaker from the dresser. “If you don’t like it, I can change it.” 

Derek shakes his head. “I trust you.” 

The words hit Spencer right in the chest, in that small, vulnerable spot between and behind his ribs. The raw feeling shocks down into his spine. Derek trusts him to help him, trusts him to take care of him. He’ll do everything he can to not screw it up. 

He connects the speaker to his phone and starts up a playlist he’s had ready for weeks, and playlist with no classical music, but a lot of soft rhythms and instrumental versions of some of Derek’s favorite songs. He puts the volume low, makes sure the water is still warm and the bubbles haven’t flattened, and then he leaves again. 

Spencer smiles at Derek and leaves him in peace. Downstairs, Clooney wakes briefly, thumps his tail twice on the kitchen floor, and succumbs to the heat. Spencer fills the tea kettle with water and strokes Clooney with his foot while waiting for it to heat. He takes the kettle off the burner before it whistles, and decants the steaming water into a waiting mug and chamomile teabag. 

He lets the tea steep for a few minutes, more so Derek can tame his panic in private, like he prefers, before Spencer goes up and helps him through. He rubs Clooney’s head before leaving, and the dog huffs happily. 

Vanilla and lavender drifts from the bathroom in gentle wafts. Spencer taps on the bathroom doorway to get Derek’s attention, and doesn’t go in until Derek opens his eyes and hums in recognition. 

Derek is submerged almost completely in bubbles and water. Only his head, from the mouth up, is visible from the mound of bubbles. He bobs up to accept his tea, suds covering his hands and a beard of bubbles clinging to his chin. Spencer smiles fondly at him. 

“Do you want me here, or do you want me to wait?” he asks. 

Derek sips his tea. “Here,” he says quietly. 

“Okay.” Spencer sits on the floor with his legs crossed and his back leaned on the sink cabinets. “How are you feeling?” he probes gently. 

“Better.” Derek sinks back down, cupping his mug. The music hums distantly. “I don’t remember the dream.” 

“Is that good?” 

“I think so.” Derek sips at his tea. He hasn’t looked at Spencer since he sat down. “I hate that I’m still scared. That he still has a… power over me.” 

Spencer consciously gentles his tone when he says, “That man has no power over you, Derek Morgan. You are so much stronger and so much more than anything that man ever was or ever did.” 

Derek glances at him. He looks like he doesn’t believe Spencer, so Spencer keeps going. “You’ve spent almost fifteen years dedicating your life to locking away men like him, and you’ve done a damn good job. You’ve spent twenty years devoting yourself to protecting people, and you’ve saved so many lives in all that time. You are the kindest, gentlest, most caring person I know. You would do anything for the people you love, and even for people you don’t know. You’re an incredible man. 

“And even if you’re scared, that’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared, you’re allowed to have nights like this. You’re human, and that makes you perfect.” Spencer leans forward and waits until Derek meets his gaze. “You’re Derek Morgan and you are a masterpiece of humanity.” 

Derek sets his tea on the edge of the tub. He rubs sudsy hands over his head and smears soap on his skin. His eyes are red. “I didn’t know you could be that poetic, Pretty Boy,” he teases. His voice is choked. He smiles through it. 

Spencer smiles back, in relief, in happiness, in love. “I guess I do have my moments.” 

“They’re pretty good ones, too. You should write them down. Let the world hear them.” 

Spencer shakes his head. “You heard them. That’s enough.” 

Derek laughs wetly. There’s soap in his beard. It’s adorable. “Man, you have got to be the cheesiest bastard I ever met.” 

Spencer shrugs. Derek sinks down into the bubbles and the music hums away. Outside, the sun could be rising or the world could be ending, and Spencer can’t find it in himself to care. 

“I love you,” Derek mumbles. 

“I love you,” Spencer replies, not a moment of hesitation. 

“Come wash my hair.” 

“You don’t have any,” Spencer laughs, but he scoots closer to the bath and cups bubbles in his hands. He kisses Derek’s nose once, lightly, before gently massaging the scent of lavender and vanilla into Derek’s scalp. Derek hums, his eyes closed and head tilted back, and Spencer loves him so, so much. 

 

\----

 

**Author's Note:**

> for [ky](http://quannico.tumblr.com/), my guy. title taken from "wedding song" by the yeah yeah yeahs.
> 
> my [tumblr](http://ronansracingheart.tumblr.com/). come yell at me.


End file.
